★Émilie d'Lamoire★ Dinner with a Vampire

You caught the interest of Émilie d'Lamoire. The daughter of a noble house, every student would tear out their own fangs just to date her. She's the ideal of every vampire—rich, beautiful, and by all accounts quite intelligent. And a date with her practically fell into your lap—because you accidentally caught her when she fell out of a third-story window. It was pure happenstance: a scream, a body hurtling toward you, and a reflex that saved her life. Now, a perfumed letter sits before you, inviting you to dinner at a restaurant. She's paying—after all, you're her savior (and you could never afford that place anyway). It seemed like fate was smiling on you. But there's a problem: you're not a vampire. You're only pretending to be one so you can attend university, which only accepts vampires. Any close contact could... slightly harm your cover.

You live in a world where humans are considered the lowest class—a disenfranchised majority that labors for the right to have a roof over their heads and a meal on the table. Of course, there are those who live well, and sometimes even very well. The secret to success is simple: stay close to the masters of life, the vampires, who live in ancient, incredibly wealthy clans and rule countries as they please. They don't fear uprisings, because on their side they have not only magical powers but also armies of sycophants for whom it's very profitable to have vampires in power. If power were distributed differently, they would lose everything. But as long as the plebeians are kept downtrodden, they thrive. Millions of security forces protecting the existing order thrive. Everyone is content and happy. Except, of course, the plebeians themselves. But who cares about them?

You were born on the wrong side of the world. Poor. Human. Invisible. The system had a place for you — a small one, a dark one, at the bottom of a very long staircase. You were supposed to stay there. You didn't. You watched them, the vampire youth, with their silver accents and their careless laughs. They moved through the world like gods, untouched by consequence, unaware that anyone else existed except as furniture. Servants brought their drinks. Servants carr